Page 75 of Shattered Obsession

In the tense silence that follows, the air grows heavy and raw, laden with unsaid emotions. His chest heaves, mirroring my own ragged breaths. For a fleeting moment, it feels as if the air around us will ignite, our unresolved feelings threatening to explode. But then, slowly, Xander’s shoulders sag, the fight draining from him.

He steps closer, his voice lowering, roughened by emotion. “I don’t know how to let go, Thalia. I don’t know how to stop protecting you. It’s the only way I know how to love you.”

My throat tightens painfully, the truth of his words resonating deeply. I force myself to hold his gaze, searching for the threads of understanding in his dark eyes.

“Then learn,” I whisper, the vulnerability urging me to be bold. “Because the only way I know how to love you is to stand beside you, not behind you.”

Cautiously, he lifts his hand and brushes my cheek, his touch tentative as if fearing I will recoil. We breathe each other in, the remnants of our argument still simmering beneath the surface but now wrapped in something else, something tender, something that feels desperate and genuine.

“I’m not letting you go,” he says finally, a hint of protectiveness still clinging to his words.

“I’m not asking you to,” I whisper back, my heart thudding in my chest. “Just let me stand on my own two feet when I can.”

He nods slowly, a reluctant acceptance washing over him, as if compromising tastes bittersweet but necessary.

There is a moment, a single heartbeat, where neither of us moves. His chest rises. Mine falls. Two storms, staring at each other, waiting to see who breaks first. The tension lingers like electric sparks in the air, anger transforming into something deeper, pain twisting into a simmering passion that pulses between us.

The kiss we crash into isn’t sweet; it’s rough and desperate. His mouth slams against mine like he’s trying to erase every word we just shouted. Maybe I’m trying to do the same, clawing at his shirt, yanking him closer, pouring all my anger and want into him. His hands grip my hips as he walks me backward until my spine hits the wall. I gasp against his mouth, but it only fuels him. His tongue tangles with mine, fierce and unyielding, and when I bite his lip, he growls, a sound that vibrates through me and makes my knees weak.

“You drive me insane,” he rasps, his breath hot against my jaw as he drags his mouth down my neck. His teeth scrape, not gently, and I moan because it feels like punishment and pleasure all at once.

“Good,” I snap back, threading my fingers into his hair, tugging hard. “Maybe now you know how I feel.” He growls again, low and primal, and suddenly I’m lifted. My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me across the room. He drops me onto the bed with none of his usual care. It’s messy, unrestrained, his body pressing mine down into the mattress.

His hand clamps lightly around my throat, not to hurt but to hold me there, his control undeniable.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he murmurs, eyes burning into mine, making sure.

“Don’t you dare stop.”

And then he takes me. Hard. His thrusts are sharp, angry, like he’s trying to drive the argument out of both of us. My nails rake down his back, leaving red trails. Every moan, every cry, every gasp is tangled with fury and need.

“Mine,” he snarls against my ear, snapping his hips harder, pushing deeper.

“Yes,” I breathe, clinging to him even as the room spins. “Yours. Always yours.”

The anger turns molten between us, melting into heat so intense it blurs into something else—passion, love, obsession. His mouth devours mine again, softer this time, almost apologetic as his pace slows, as if he remembers I’m not just something to fight with but the woman he’d burn the world for.

I come undone first, trembling around him, crying out his name like it’s the only word I know. He follows with a strangled groan, collapsing against me, both of us sweaty and breathless, our bodies still tangled like we’ll never let go.

For a long moment, the only sound is our ragged breathing.

Then, quietly, he whispers into my hair. “I don’t want to fight with you. I just don’t know how to love you without fighting the world at the same time.”

Maybe love like ours was never meant to be soft. Maybe it was forged in fire. Some couples fall into love. We clawed our way into it. Bleeding. Burning. Breathing each other in like oxygen.

I press my lips to his shoulder, exhausted but smiling faintly. “Then keep fighting the world. Just don’t fight me.” And in the silence that follows, I think that maybe this messy, fiery love is exactly what I need.

We lie here, breaths uneven, bodies still tangled.

For the first time all day, we’re not fighting.

Not running.

Not afraid.

Just breathing the same air.

His thumb lazily traces circles on my hip, soft and slow, and something in me unclenches. Not because he conquered me, but because he sees me.